Emotions
by whovenclaw-holmes
Summary: 12 months, 12 chapters, 12 Johnlock moments. A year showing the progression of John and Sherlock's relationship starting with their first kiss on the 1st of January and continuing through the 1st of each month. I hope you enjoy another simple fluffy and happy Johnlock!
1. January

**January: Emotions, John, emotions.**

A loud bang was John's first signal that it was time to get up, inevitably caused by another of Sherlock's experiments. He turned to his left to face his alarm clock and, after hitting it with his fist, the numbers blinked blue to display the time of 06:14am. He groaned, wasn't it a little early for explosive science experiments? Wasn't it a little early for anything?

He turned back and pulled his duvet up to shield him against the cold morning air. It seemed there was a problem with the heating… again. Last time it was due to Sherlock needing one of the key pipes for another experiment, something to do with the rusting rate of iron in order to test the percentage of water in blood. John had no doubt that this time was no different in the fact that Sherlock had something (everything) to do with it.

Closing his eyes, he started to drift back into a lazy sleep but it was only another five minutes before a loud bang once again interrupted him.

He groaned again and to much protest, managed to drag himself out of bed. There was no point trying to sleep whilst Sherlock was doing something like this. With the same level of grace as a brain-dead zombie, he changed out of his bed clothes into his warmest jumper and a pair of old grey jeans. Stumbling down the stairs, he met the sight of Sherlock in his tight purple shirt and an equally tight pair of black trousers meticulously studying a collection of flasks and bottles. His eyes glanced over the detective, and he found himself once again pondering exactly the emotion he felt towards the man.

Of course, they were friends, but was there something more. That tingle in the back of his throat, could that be developed into something beyond just best-friendship? He closed off the subject. Going on all he knew of Sherlock, it seemed he was asexual and so there was no point thinking over distracting thoughts like that. It could only ever taint their current relationship and so he pushed it aside.

"The heating Sherlock?"

"Hmm.."

Sherlock glanced up, apparently only just noticing John's presence. He quickly delved back into his work only muttering;

"Broken."

"Yes, Sherlock. How?"

"I required the tap cap."

John shifted his gaze to the flasks and bottles sat on the table in front of Sherlock and noticed that sticking on one of them was a familiar looking metal object. Shaped like an enlarged thimble, the tap cap was sitting over the neck of a bottle filled halfway with a fizzing, green solution. He sighed.

"For God's sake Sherlock. Couldn't you have used something else?"

"It had to be metal. I was unable to find anything else which fitted and had that key property."

John sighed, there was no point trying to counter him and even less point removing the cap, that would only encourage more disruption of the house in a search for something similar. He moved past Sherlock to the single, clean counter and started to prepare some tea. Retrieving a spoon, a cup and a saucer from the cupboards and turned towards the fridge when-

Sherlock stood plain-out staring at him from over the table.

"Errr… Sherlock."

"Yes John?"

His gaze was somewhat unsettling and just plain un-moving. Time stretched on as the eye contact seemed to overwhelm John, eventually causing him to stare at the floor and speak into the silence.

"What are you doing?"

"Staring."

"Right, right, of course…"

John shuffled his feet but still stayed where he was whilst Sherlock's eyes did not waver.

"Any particular reason why?"

"I… err… I don't know." Sherlock mumbled, his gaze dropping with the unfamiliar uncertainty in his own voice.

John noticed it too, the gloating confidence for a second seemed removed from Sherlock, an incredibly rare occurrence. He watched the dark-haired man as the eyes which shimmered with a million colours skimmed lazily over the equipment set up in front of him, unfocused, disconnected. He looked the man up and down and noticed his hand was shaking on the table, just like John's used to. Concerned, John walked round the table past the fridge so he was just in front of Sherlock.

Gently, he placed his hand on top of Sherlock's. The hand beneath his immediately stopped shaking and Sherlock's face shot up to look at John's.

"Sherlock, why were you staring at me?"

"Emotions, John, emotions."

"Emotions? What emotions?"

"It's all far too confusing, distracting and quite frankly infuriating."

"Sherlock what are you talking about?"

Sherlock violently leapt up and started to pace his way to the living room, moving his hands to his head. John was worried, this was strange, very strange. What was he talking about – emotions? The only emotions Sherlock normally talked about were emotions which could contribute to a suspect's motive in a case. He walked up to his friend's pacing form and used both of his hands to hold Sherlock's arms and therefore make him stay still.

"Sherlock, tell me. What are you talking about?"

Sherlock struggled against the soldier's grip but to little result and so was forced to look up into his face. The face which had been sculpted with years of aging, violence and emotion, the face which stared at him this minute. That face which he had become so accustomed to seeing every morning, every day, every night. For a full year now, the face which had constantly been at the forefront of his mind but now… for different reasons. For emotional reasons. Surely the worst kind?

Instinctively, the detective leaned forward quickly, almost knocking John's nose. It was in a flash of sparks that their lips connected in a simple but passionate kiss. Their lips fitted deliciously well together, with both of them offering equal pressure to the kiss.

John almost jumped out of his skin, out of everything, he did not expect that, could never have expected that. That didn't mean he didn't want it though. Didn't mean he hadn't wanted it for a long time.

On Sherlock's side, he was even more surprised by his own action than John was. Never in his life had he willingly participated in a romantic or sexual act until now. But he had initiated it, so that must mean he wanted it. He scanned over his thoughts, over the feeling of John's lips against his own, yes, he definitely wanted it and everything that came with it.

Sherlock was the first to back slowly away from the kiss and as he looked into John's eyes, he was so overwhelmed with _that_ alien emotion that he had apparently been blocking for a long time, he was forced to look down.

"I'm sorry John, that wasn't appropriate. I should not have done that without consulting you first."

"Sherlock"

John took one of Sherlock's hands in his and used the other to push up Sherlock's chin so he could look at him.

"I'm glad you did it. But, perhaps we should talk about it seeing as I had assumed were asexual."

Sherlock smiled very slightly, but even that expression was slightly odd to him.

"Well so had I until now."

"But you do want this?"

"Yes."

John smiled and pressed another calmer and more gentle kiss to Sherlock's mouth.

"So do I."

* * *

**Authors Note: This FanFiction is a belated birthday present for kandyblood who is a brilliant writer and doesn't even know it!**

**I hope you're enjoying it (more chapters to come!) and any reviews really are greatly appreciated!**


	2. February

**Feburary: Are you spooning me Sherlock?**

John woke to a small amount of natural light peeping through his window.

A month had gone by since the kiss and both John and Sherlock were happy with the slow-moving nature of their relationship. Sherlock certainly wasn't one to make big leaps unless utterly and completely sure of himself and John was comfortable going at whatever pace Sherlock set.

Despite his past experiences with women, John knew that Sherlock could not be compared to any previous relationship he had had. The chemistry between them was just so different to anything John had experienced before and of course, completely unfamiliar to Sherlock, that a snail's pace might be too fast.

So they settled into a routine of casual kisses and a small amount of hand holding - just enough to keep them both happy but not enough for either of them to feel smothered. They hadn't yet told anyone of their relationship, nor had they discussed telling anyone. John was sure that when the time was right, the conversation would arise without assistance.

Contemplating this, John slowly rose from the bed and changed. He walked down the stairs with purpose, determined that on the one time he actually had woken earlier than Sherlock (hence the natural waking) he could do something for him.

Walking to the kitchen, he quickly made some toast and a pot of tea. He balanced the items on a tray and made his way to Sherlock's room, being careful not to tip-up the tray. He pushed against the door with his back ,which clicked open, and moved into the dark room. The curtains were drawn and he could just make out the gentle rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. He very carefully placed the tray on Sherlock's table and started to make his way out. But just before he reached the door he heard Sherlock's voice.

"John?"

John smiled.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was, however you're not the quietest on your feet."

"You shouldn't say that to the person who just made you breakfast Sherlock."

"I... isn't that one of those... those romantic things."

"Yes. Although I wasn't really thinking about that when I-"

"Come back to bed."

John knitted his eyebrows together in confusion

"I was never in your bed."

"You did something romantic, I am merely returning the gesture."

"It's fine Sherlock, you don't need to-"

"I mean it John."

John was a little confused and more than a bit delighted. Subconciously, perhaps he had been waiting for this level of intimacy with Sherlock. He slowly headed over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He could make out Sherlock's face now, could see his eyes scanning over John's back.

"Oh dear God John. Do hurry up, or I may have to withdraw the offer."

John smiled and relaxed, that was much more like the Sherlock he knew. He swung his legs over so he was lying under the covers, Sherlock on his left hand side. He wriggled and pulled the covers over himself. Sherlock reached for his hand and pulled him closer so they were now staring up at the ceiling together. The feel of Sherlock's hand around his own was nice and the smell of Sherlock in the sheets really was fantastic. Sherlock enjoyed the warmth of another human next to him too, the feel of John's hand in his was very comforting.

After a while in silence, Sherlock turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around John's waist forcing him onto his side too with his back facing Sherlock. Sherlock rested his head against John's neck, smiling into his skin and kissing it gently. He pushed his legs up slightly so they curled into the same shape as John's. Like they were one being, one whole, one entity captured in the infinite essence of-

"Are you spooning me Sherlock?"

Sherlock breathed out, lightly annoyed that his train of thought had been interrupted.

"Dear God. Is that really what they call this? Anyway, shut up, I was trying to be philosophical."

"Philosophical?"

"Did I mumble John?" he asked, but his voice was far softer than normal.

"Your brother told me something once."

There was a small pause before Sherlock spoke.

"...We're lying in bed together and you're talking about Mycroft?"

"That you had the mind of a scientist or a philosopher and yet you chose to be a detective."

"_Consulting_ detective."

"Anyway, he asked me what could we deduce about your heart."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know but apparently you used to want to be a pirate."

Sherlock froze and buried his face back into John's shoulder, his cheeks going so red it seemed as though they could easily be used as a heat source to sustain life on Earth.

"Come now Sherlock, guess what I wanted to be."

Sherlock sighed, still red with embarrassment.

"I don't know John. What _did_ you want to be?"

John laughed "A pirate."

* * *

**Author's note: A much shorter chapter this time, but a very fluffy one hopefully. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks! - Whovenclaw-holmes**


	3. March

**Warning: This chapter is probably a higher rating due to hints to and foreplay to sexy times. Safely, I would say this was an M. This chapter is not utterly necessary to the overall fic's plot and so if you don't want to read it, feel free to just skip this chapter! :)**

* * *

**March: John Watson, I think I'm falling in love with you**

For the fifth morning in a row, John woke in Sherlock's bed. They had been sharing a bed on and off now for the last month, the situation changing depending on both of their moods and levels of tiredness. John had the impression that if their relationship was to be a long term one, there would still be times when they wouldn't share a bed at night. Not because of arguments or growing apart (at least he hoped not), but because of the job and the fact that, at times, both of them needed their own space.

John smiled. _Not now though_, he thought to himself. Sherlock was 'spooning' (John still insisted on using the term, mainly to infuriate Sherlock) him again. John could feel Sherlock's arms snaked around his waist, feel Sherlock's leg lying casually over his own and feel the heat of his breath against the back of his neck. Both men were wearing old pajama trousers and the white duvet was tightly wrapped around both of them.

Sherlock was in some ways a more intimate partner than John had anticipated, for example he could never have imagined being quite so close when they fell asleep, could not have expected the regular light kisses he received during a day in 221B, could not have dreamed of Sherlock Holmes snuggling next to him on the sofa, his head in John's lap. But even though he had never imagined this side of Sherlock, it didn't stop him liking, nay, loving it.

"Mmmm"

John heard the faint murmur of Sherlock starting to wake, John had started to notice how Sherlock really did make the most peaceful noises in his sleep and though he often didn't sleep for long, it must be the time he was the most relaxed. Sleep did miraculous things to people, it could cure illnesses, halt addictions, and put a rest to the endless ticking of human minds.

Sherlock breathed out onto John's neck heavily which caused John to shiver all over. Sherlock noticed, and teasingly breathed out again. John shivered even more and he could picture Sherlock's sleepy yet mischievous smile.

"Don't tease me Sherlock." he said, smirking.

Sherlock laughed and pressed a kiss to John's shoulder causing him to shudder.

"Why not? This is rather fun!"

He pressed more and more kisses to John's neck, and John could feel the heat of Sherlock's kisses travelling to other parts of his body. John turned to face him, smiling.

"Seriously Sherlock, you're gonna have to stop that."

John's pupils were blown, the corner of his lip twinged, his blinking was far slower than normal. Sherlock scanned John's face and in a flash he recognized the emotion; arousal. He'd only seen it on The Woman's face before, but the new emotion complimented John's features well.

He smiled. Maybe it was the right time for them to go to the next step. At this point, it felt right.

That wasn't to say that Sherlock wasn't going completely out of his mind with worry over it. How would he know what to do? Would he be disappointed? Would John be disappointed? But with a huge amount of self-control, he managed to keep that out of his voice.

"Maybe we shouldn't stop it, John."

He stopped smiling, his eyes piercing John's with a brilliant intensity.

Sherlock could see the point when the realization of what he was proposing hit John. John bit his lip, then smiled, then looked down, then looked back up, then smiled, then stopped smiling. Sherlock supposed that was what people referred to when they spoke of a 'roller coaster of emotions'.

"I... are you sure Sherlock? I don't want to rush you or..."

"I'm sure. But you should know I haven't done this before, don't be disappointed." And this time his voice slipped, revealing the questions he tried so desperately to hide from John.

John smiled reassuringly, he wasn't surprised that Sherlock hadn't engaged with anyone sexually before but in John's mind that didn't change anything. He was still here with Sherlock Holmes, the man he was in a relationship with, and not just any relationship. This could be the one, he really hadn't thought of anyone like this before. It had always been about getting off with women and trying to continue the relationship as long as possible, trying to find that spark. But now he didn't need to try and find that spark. With Sherlock, it had always been there just waiting to explode into a brilliant flame.

"I won't be."

John smiled and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips which he returned deeper, Sherlock could feel the blood rushing to his head causing a beautiful feeling of euphoria and then blood rushing southwards. Something he had before only treated as a distraction now proved to be an asset. Sherlock pushed John onto his back and in turn moved on to John, scattering the doctor's neck and chest with kisses. More desperate kisses than he'd ever given the man beneath him before. He moaned into John's skin, crossing any barriers either of them had ever put up.

That was the thing more than anything, the fact that John was allowing him to do this. The fact that John wanted this just as much as he did. The mutual need and that strange feeling in the back of his throat, the way his body tingled with electricity whenever John was around.

He allowed his hands to roam over John's torso and edged back up the man's body to run his hands through John's short, blonde hair. He kissed John deeply on the mouth, an action John returned, brushing his hands rapidly through Sherlock's dark curls. Letting emotions take over.

"John Watson, I think I'm falling in love with you" Sherlock murmured against the doctor's ear.

"The feeling is mutual, believe me. Dear God, _believe_ me Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

**Author's note: So that was my attempt at Sherlock and John's first time and the kind of sexual relationship I think they would have. As ever, any feedback is fantastic! I'm enjoying writing this fic a lot (hence quick updates) and hope you are enjoying reading it!**


	4. April

**April: First, Mrs Hudson. Next, the world?**

John sat at the sofa with his Laptop on his lap and a tea (no sugar) on the table in front of him. He was typing up the latest of his and Sherlock's cases, one which had started with the theft of a Norwegian treasure and ended with the suicide of the assassin Daniel Rogue, known across the world for leaving a piece of white card with a blue inked thumb print of his next victim at the scene of the crime.

It certainly hadn't been a dull week.

John smiled as he typed on and on for an hour. In fact, he was just starting to edit out any typos when Sherlock came in through the door, soaked from head to toe.

John smiled, it was a sunny and dry day.

"Sherlock, is there any point asking how you got soaked when there is no rain?"

Sherlock moved his head quickly to look at John, sending droplets of water flying across the room from his sopping hair.

"Not particularly. I had to search a pond."

"For what?"

"A key, essential evidence to a case."

"Did you find it?"

Sherlock smiled and produced from his pocket a shining silver key which had a green emerald embossed on the base. John smiled, that was his Sherlock, too engaged in his work to care for any consequences. He turned away from John towards the kitchen, when John saw on his back a single strand of green pond weed stuck on his coat.

John laughed and Sherlock spun around, confused.

"What?"

"On your back!"

"Why are you laughing? What is it?"

He clawed at his back with awkward arm movements, every time missing the long, green strand. John only laughed more, whilst Sherlock's infuriation increased.

"For _GOD'S SAKE_ John! What is it?"

John stood up, still laughing, and headed over to where Sherlock stood. He smiled and peeled the coat off of Sherlock's wet form. Sherlock struggled as he pulled the coat off of him, flailing his arms trying to shake the coat off but to little result.

Finally, John got the soaking coat off (despite Sherlock's disruption) and twisted it round in his hands so that Sherlock could see the pond weed on the back of it. Sherlock knitted his eyebrows.

"Is that it?"

John smiled again, took the seaweed off and dumped it in the bin before stuffing the coat into the tumble dryer.

"Careful John! That's Pure wool blend!"

John laughed again and turned back to Sherlock, still dripping with water.

"It'll be fine, now get yourself to the shower before you ruin the flat you idiot."

Sherlock smiled widely, approached John and kissed him firmly on the mouth, caressing his jaw with his skeletal hand.

"You could always join me John."

"For God's sake Sherlock, it's literally the middle of the day, now get your ass to the shower!"

Sherlock smiled as John spun him around and pushed him towards the bathroom.

"I think I like you forceful, we'll have to investigate that."

"Gladly. But for now, shower."

* * *

Sherlock came out of the bathroom about 20 minutes later in a white shirt, black trousers and with still-damp hair. He walked towards the living room in bare feet and joined John, still sat at the laptop tapping away. He saw another cup of tea sat upon the table and smiled.

"Thank you John."

John smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek before turning back to his laptop, he was just double checking now before posting the latest adventure of Holmes and Watson.

Sherlock leaned back into the sofa and propped up a cushion behind himself, sipping his tea quietly. When he had finished the tea, he sat back again and snuggled closer to John, his eyes scanning over the blog post.

"For God's sake John," he said "'From Treasure to Treason'!? It sounds like a bad spy film."

John smiled, said nothing then pressed a deep kiss to Sherlock's mouth which caused a wonderful surprised smile to blossom on Sherlock's face. Immediately, he kissed John deeply again, his hand going up to John's hair and feeling it ruffle under his touch. John broke off from the kiss to say;

"You know, this is quite distracting."

Sherlock smiled and kissed his jaw very lightly.

"Then again, stuff it."

John dropped the laptop to the floor and hooked both of his arms around the detective's neck. Sherlock immediately hooked his arms around John's back and crawled up the sofa over John who was slumping against the side of the sofa. Both men smiled against the other's lips, enjoying the raw contact you could only get with a spontaneous snog (another term that irritated Sherlock and so John insisted on using).

Sherlock's eyelids flickered with the Endorphins filling his brain and pulled John closer to him, John bit his lip and he smiled again. In the back of his mind, he heard a knocking but elected to ignore it as he concentrated all of his being on the feelings of John.

Without warning, John stopped and stared at something behind Sherlock. Confused, Sherlock turned and saw her in the doorway. Mrs Hudson.

He suddenly realized the compromising nature of their position. He was kneeling over John and had his head dipped mere millimeters from John's. John himself was half sitting, half lying beneath Sherlock, his head raised to meet Sherlock's.

John coughed. His face was the epitome of awkward, Mrs Hudson looked like she'd been hit with a saucepan and Sherlock was sure his own face displayed an emotion midway between surprise and embarrassment.

"I think I'll just ...I had something on the... on the... downstairs."

"No, no, Mrs Hudson, please come in. Sit down." John stuttered.

With a huge force, he launched Sherlock off of him to the other end of the sofa where he shuffled to an overly-formal sitting position and made a big job of smartening himself up. He ruffled his hair, did up the button which had come undone on his shirt and tucked the material that had come free back into his trousers.

John just managed not to smile at quite how cute he looked then turned so he was sitting normally on the seat. he tried to look as relaxed as possible and gestured to the seat opposite for Mrs Hudson to sit. He saw her trying to regain her composure and very delicately placing herself down on to the seat.

John cleared his throat again then caught Sherlock's eye and saw him give a very small nod and he knew. Time to tell her.

"I-err Mrs Hudson you've probably guessed what's going on but- uhh."

"Oh no, I- I haven't" her voice squeaked.

"Well, uhhh, me and Sherlock are-" he broke off and coughed leaving a few moments silence before Sherlock jumped in.

"Me and John have entered a sexual relationship, Mrs Hudson."

If there had been sand, John definitely would have buried his head in it. Couldn't Sherlock have just left out the 'sexual' part? He shot Sherlock a look which he shrugged his shoulders to and then continued.

"Yes. We have. We've been together for about three months."

"_Exactly_ three months, John."

"Fine, exactly three months."

Mrs Hudson looked down, clearly embarrassed then raised her head again, an un-readable expression on her face.

"I can't say I'm not embarrassed to have walked in on you- uhhh... but I have to say" she smiled "I am rather glad you've got together."

The two men turned to face each other, confused looks on both of their faces.

Mrs Hudson gave out a small laugh, which caused only deeper confusion. She rolled her eyes.

"Men really are such fools. You've wanted each other for a lot longer than three months and you know it."

John turned to Sherlock but Sherlock only smiled at the woman across from him.

"Nothing seems to escape you, Mrs Hudson."

"You could have seen it from space dear!"

They were all smiling now and John offered his hand to Sherlock, he gladly took it in his own so their hands were resting on the sofa between them. Mrs Hudson smiled again.

"Well, from now on I'd rather there was a sign on the door or something when you're getting cosy. Really! At my time of my life..."

She got up and made her way to the door, shot them one more smile, then exited through it, her slippers slapping against the wooden stairs.

John turned to Sherlock, his eyebrows raised high. Sherlock returned the look, the ghost of a smile flickering around his lips. That set John off. He laughed loudly and turned so he was leaning against Sherlock who's deep but bubbly laughter soon erupted from his own mouth. They stayed like that for a long time, laughing over and over, the sound filling the room up. They laughed until there was no more breath in their lungs, until the laughter rebounded and echoed through the flat like a huge ball of sound.

John smiled.

"That could have gone worse, then again, it certainly could have gone better."

Sherlock smiled "Care to kill two birds with one stone?"

John looked up, expecting further explanation.

"First, Mrs Hudson. Next, the world?"

Sherlock's words were filled with a different kind of confidence, an emotional confidence. Having been together for three months, he was sure they were both ready to face the rest of the world. Just having John there was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Just having John there surely meant he could do anything if he put his mind to it. No. _They_ could do anything. Perhaps caring was an advantage after all because nothing else in the world gave him the strength, happiness and determination that John gave him.

John bit his lip "Are you sure it's the right time?"

"I don't mind everyone knowing now. We're definitely strong enough together to stand any attention we get."

John smiled "Okay then."

John felt wonderful hearing him say that. Hearing Sherlock say that if they were together then they could do anything. It was a cliche of course, but cliches are cliches for a reason.

He reached down for his laptop and saw the finished post just waiting to be published. He scanned to the end and then added a few extra sentences.

_'Additionally, myself and Sherlock Holmes are officially in a relationship and are very much enjoying ourselves. Thank you for reading and please spread this fact as much as you like.'_

He was about to publish it when he had another thought.

_'A note to DI Lestrade: I am certain you will be pleased to collect the bets from your fellow officers since we have indeed started shagging before the year is out.'_

* * *

**Author's note: So I guess this chapter was of a slightly more comical style but I really enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoyed reading it! Don't worry we'll be back to the hardcore fluff next chapter though! I'm really, really happy with all the positive feedback I'm getting on this story, huge thanks to everyone who's written a review or favourited or anything! And please anyone who would like to, continue to give me feedback! It really is so helpful! :D**


	5. May

**May: The advantage to caring is love. And the advantage to love is you.**

John woke to the gentle tinkle of china, a cup and saucer clicking against each other. He yawned quietly, opened his eyes, and smiled. Sherlock was precariously placing a cup of tea on his bedside table.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to-"

"You did it for me once, I thought I should return the favour. Besides, you need to wake up quickly. We're going out."

"...going out?"

"We are. We're going for a walk."

"Oh... okay. Well thanks for the tea."

"You deserve it after the week we've had."

Sherlock kissed the top of his head and walked back towards the door.

That was true enough. The confirmation of their relationship had spread far and wide and they had had far too much unwanted attention from the public and the press. John had no idea quite how far their reputation had spread. Outside of London, John had assumed no-one knew of them but that certainly had not been true. National and Global newspapers were crawling over each other just to get a photo of them let alone the amount of requests for interviews which had flooded John's blog and Sherlock's website.

Sherlock stopped just before he reached the door and turned back to face John.

"I still don't understand. Why are people interested?"

John moved a hand over his face, still not truly awake.

"Because we're the latest news. The next big thing."

"But... why do people care?"

John smiled sleepily. In some ways Sherlock's mind was more like a child's than any adult's he knew. Sherlock was inquisitive, excitable and curious but not only that, he was able to take a situation, break it down and collect the main points which he supposed is how he was able to analyse every situation so well. But that ability meant that when he applied it to things like the media, it faltered because the media, itself, made no sense.

"It's just like that. It doesn't make sense and it never will. But it'll pass, we'll be old news soon."

"Well soon will never be soon enough as far as I'm concerned. Especially if it means the additional passing of Lestrade's endless innuendos."

John laughed gently and Sherlock moved out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.

* * *

Within the hour, they were walking out the door. Immediately, they were faced with a large group of paparazi yelling anything that would make them talk or at least stop. Requests, questions and insults flew all around them along with the constant flash of cameras. Luckily, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and they ran away before the paparazzi could get anything but blurred shots.

Soon they were walking through the heart of London. It was a cold morning and the wind was strong causing both of them to turn up their collars against it. They kept hold of eachother's hand as they walked toward their destination, unknown to John but know far too well to Sherlock.

After half an hour of solid walking, Sherlock noticed how violently John's hand was shivering. He looked over and scanned his face; his forehead was paler than usual whereas his cheeks were far redder. He smiled, as fine as John looked like that, it wasn't at all good for his circulation. Sherlock took his hand out of John's and used it to unwrap the scarf around his neck. John looked up to him, confused, but Sherlock only smiled. He held the fabric in his hands for a second before wrapping the blue wool gently around John's neck. John smiled.

"You're full of surprises today Sherlock Holmes."

"Care for another?"

He gestured around them, they had arrived at Hyde Park. Sherlock took John's hand again and led him over to a small wooden bench next to the lake. The scene was eerily beautiful, the weak sunlight had just started peeping out from behind a cloud causing an atmospheric glimmer to appear on the lake's surface. The trees and the grass were damp with early morning dew causing them, too, to sparkle in the light. As they sat, the old bench creaked beneath them. Sherlock turned to look at the lake, staring into it as though it would reveal the infinite abyss of space.

"I came here as a child."

John cocked his head, "You did? I thought you grew up in the country."

Sherlock shook his head. "We moved up when I was ten years old. I passed here everyday. One day when I was twelve I sat here all day and decided."

"Decided?"

"That I would never allow myself to love someone. There had been too many disappointments in my life. My father, died when I was young. My mother, favored Mycroft on every occasion. Mycroft... well, you've met him."

He sighed and half expected John to say something but he didn't. He sat patiently, waiting for Sherlock's queue.

"I had assumed that caring was ridiculous, that caring could never help anyone. That care, no matter who for, would always bring me sadness. Would always bring me pain. Bring me to distraction. And you know what. I was right. It has brought me every single one of those things."

John squeezed Sherlock's palm. He had never heard him talk about this, talk about his past, his childhood. Had never before heard that soft tone of nostalgia in his voice.

"But you know what else it brought. What I never could have predicted. You."

Despite the cold, John felt himself warm up. Felt his very center begin to flutter as Sherlock turned to face him, beaming like the child that had once sat upon this very bench.

"I have never met a single person remotely like you. The one person who I have cared for and have loved like I swore not to. Because you know what, John Watson. Love is not a choice. Not when you are here, because how could I possibly not love you when you're the bravest, most unique, most ethically-sound human I have ever met. And you bring me love. So much so that I feel it pulsing round me whenever you touch me or speak to me or whenever we lock eyes. The advantage to caring is love. And the advantage to love is you."

A single tear slid down John's cheek. Never had he felt like this. About anyone. Never had he been spoken to like this, like every single word was precious. Never in his life, had he felt so wanted, so loved, so needed and so very_ in_ love. He saw a tear fall from Sherlock's eye too.

"Sherlock Holmes. Never have I been spoken to like that. And I don't know why I was, because I am the most ordinary bastard I know. But..."

John shook his head gently to Sherlock's need to explain but he continued to smile with giddy happiness.

"Let me say that every single thing you have said is mirrored in what I feel for you. And I can't possibly articulate it as smoothly as you have just done. But, I don't think I need to. Because you already know I love you a thousand times over."

Sherlock beamed joyfully, his smile so wide you could fit the whole world into it. John leaned towards him instinctively, his hand dragging itself up to the familiar feel of his soft curls, Sherlock's hand already placing itself on his waist. And this was what it meant. This moment. The moment that their lips met in a whirl of flame and passion. The moment they were so in love that nothing else in the world could possibly matter. As long as they had that, they both knew, that they could live. Without it, they both knew, they would surely die.

* * *

**Author's note: You wanted fluff? COME TO THE FLUFF EMPORIUM FOR FLUFF, FLUFF AND GUESS WHAT? MORE FLUFF. I know this chapter was a huge cheese feast but I wanted to explore the feelings of primarily Sherlock and this felt like the most natural way to do it. I'm very sorry for how late this chapter has been uploaded (I had a drama school thing) but hopefully I should be back to regular updates now! Any reviews as always are hugely helpful! Thanks for reading! ^^**


	6. June

**Warning: Arguments and feels (but don't worry I couldn't have dealt with not resolving them in this chapter, hence the long word count and extra dose of fluff)**

* * *

**June: Without emotion, men are not men, they are animals.**

This month had been a tough one. Even tougher than last month. True, the press had died down but somehow... so had the cases. They hadn't had a single request from the police or a client for over 7 weeks now and it was definitely starting to have an effect.

"Without the work my brain _rots_."

It echoed through John's head, fresh from last night. Sherlock's words so sharp that they could have cut clean through ice. His behaviour had become increasingly frustrated, distracted and isolated. He didn't blame him, he knew it was true, Sherlock lived for his work and nothing in the world could change that. John didn't want it to change either, he loved that part of him as he did every other part but sometimes... it was just difficult.

He had been lying in their shared bed awake for over an hour now, just mulling over these thoughts. Although the main reason was that he didn't want to face Sherlock (who had risen at some ungodly hour) just yet. He sighed and turned to his right, the bed was far too big without Sherlock beside him. He leant his elbows against the mattress and pushed up until he was sat on the side of the bed. Getting up, he quickly dressed and went to the door, taking a steadying breath before pushing it open.

The site was immediate, there were hundreds of newspaper sheets scattered over the living room and the kitchen, only small areas of carpet and tiling were visible among the black and white paper. He quickly walked up the hall and looked around. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock who was in the kitchen, both hands gripping the sink and his head bowed over it. He lifted his head, glanced at John with a look free from any emotion and stared back down into the sink.

"Sherlock."

The man did nothing to respond.

"Sherlock."

He snapped his head to look at John, his eyes skimming up and down the Doctor's form.

"I suppose you're wondering why newspaper is scattered over the flat. Of course you are you're far too _normal_ to try and actually work it out yourself for once."

He spat the words out like acid, each one stinging his partner.

"Well, you know what John. I was bored. I am bored. So, I decided to scatter newspaper over the apartment. And- oh yes- you're thinking 'But that's not logical at all Sherlock' and I do whole-heartedly agree with you, however, that does not change the fact that the newspaper is still everywhere and I still did it. And that is logical, because it exists and you can see it and I can see it."

John stood there, almost crumbling beneath Sherlock's concentrated gaze.

"Speaking of logic let's apply it to you."

He walked towards him and started to circle him, studying him.

"Pillow marks on your face. You've been awake in bed for an hour. Maybe you were reading. More likely you just didn't want to face me. Unshaved for... four days, unshowered for two, you're tired of making an effort. Certainly tired of me. I can see it in your face. The idea of being with me is great but the reality... that's something different, something different entirely. You're tired of me, of my behaviour, you think I'm ignorant, frustrated. What did you expect John, I am a genius, I get bored, hence the newspaper."

He turned sharply on his heel and assumed his position back at the sink. John shivered with a mixture of emotions. Frustration, anger, embarrassment, and that was to name only a few. He felt his fists grow into tight balls of fury and quiver with energy locked deep inside of him.

"Sherlock Holmes. You have no idea how frustrating it is to live with you let alone be in a relationship with you. Not only do I have to wake up to newspaper thrown all over the floor but I also have to be scrutinized by an evil bastard who only ever cares about the work. Who doesn't even care about me. About the one person you actually said you cared about with."

His argument back was half-hearted under the effort of fighting back tears. He couldn't explain how he felt in words, he had never been able to and anger didn't help.

"But that's the problem isn't it. Do you ever wonder why I haven't got a case? Do you ever just turn it over in your pathetic brain for one second? It's you John."

John stumbled backwards, his head spinning.

"...me?"

"Did I mumble John? Our relationship has been analysed on the front page of every single tabloid there is and yet you still wonder why we have no case. I'll tell you the problem. The final problem." He was close to John now, his head over him, eyes turned down to meet his. "You."

John stepped back, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He was falling apart and _God_ did he hate it. He hated the fact that someone could get to him like this, the tears, the anger, the infinite abyss he was falling into. Sherlock had told him he loved him for Christ's sake, and here he was, with no emotions at all. Even hate would have been better than nothing but he couldn't find even a smidge of a feeling in his words. Was it all just a lie?

John felt the tears fall more and more but he still stood strong, as the soldier he always was and always would be. If he could cope with his leg being blown off, he could deal with Sherlock. He marched towards the door, grabbed his coat and walked out of it, down the stairs, and into the street. He was faintly aware of Sherlock's voice calling after him but he couldn't face the man who had just thrown everything he'd ever offered him straight back into his face.

* * *

John walked on and on through the streets of London, tears dripping fiercely down his face and evaporating in the hot sun. He was angry at the heat; it was so unsuited to the moment that it felt like it was somehow mocking him, like even the weather would do absolutely nothing to respect his circumstances. He marched on and on through the morning, never knowing where he was going, just letting his feet lead him.

After several hours, he found himself in Hyde Park, the bench on which they had both sat just a month ago on his left. Slowly, he walked towards it, each step booming in his head as he forced himself to focus on it. The teal was painted with peeling dark green paint with worn out Art Nouveux styled black metal framing. It was tragically beautiful when he really _looked_. He brushed his hand over the back of the wood, allowing it to scratch and plant splinters into his fingers. Frankly, he was pleased for the pain, it helped ground him and distract slightly from the dominant pulsing pain spreading through his body, the emotions piercing him like a thousand needles intent on stabbing him over and over and over...

He sat down onto the bench, his legs still trembling from the adrenaline of continued exercise and the emotions still running through him. He placed his shaking head in his shaking hands, closing his eyes only to see jittering red and orange patterns forming in front of him. He breathed deeply in and out, doing anything to try and return to a normal level of stability but he couldn't. Sherlock's words continued to turn in his head, and those eyes, his eyes, like an infinite darkness. So alone and so remote that he could surely never reach them.

"John."

His head shot up causing his neck to click painfully. He stood, backed up and turned to see him stood right there. He looked... broken. His face was tear tracked and a muscle twinged just below his right eye.

"Can I... can I explain?"

John only stared, trying to gather all the anger he'd felt and concentrating it towards Sherlock. But he faltered, far too many looks of sadness and weakness slipping through the sieve to stay strong.

"W-why Do you need to, you made clear that I w-was, I-"

His shoulders hunched over and his body seemed to fold beneath him, giving up, any energy he had was released from him. He was falling backwards, tired and lonely and trying to hold on to something that wasn't there.

But he didn't need to hold on to anything, because he knew deep inside that Sherlock would always catch him.

Strong arms gripped around John's back and pulled him away from the lake. He looked up to see Sherlock staring down at him and a salty drip of water fell onto his lip.

"Please John. Please. I'm sorry. I can't possibly- I'm so sorry."

He lifted the other man back to standing, his hands still gripped tightly around him ensuring he did not fall again. He led him over to sit on the bench and took his own seat beside him. John slowly came back to his senses, he felt as though he had been knocked out by an iron fist of feeling.

"Sherlock, why did you say those things?"

Sherlock looked up to look at him, truth echoing through every single word he voiced.

"Because I had been over thinking everything and everything was going wrong. No case. No work." he glanced to John "Because I was blocking out any emotion inside of me and concentrating on everything pointless. I know it's no excuse and I, just- I know I'm a fool but please John please don't doubt a word of what I said to you on this bench. Anything where I had emotion. Without emotion, men are not men, they are animals."

"Sherlock you can't expect me to- you really hurt me, more than anyone has before, because I care, but I don't know- those things you said, you were so distant, I thought we were in this together. I loved you. I love you. But do you have the emotional capability to return that..."

"Please John please" the tears were thick and fast now, for both men. Sherlock could barely talk for all the water cascading down his face. "I can't live without you. I'll never do that again I swear."

"But will that be the case in the morning Sherlock, I don't know if I can do this."

John turned his head away.

"Please John, listen. If I had to choose between having no work and nothing to occupy my brain till the end of my life. Or lose you. You would come first every time. I love you."

John lifted his head. That was one hell of a statement for anyone let alone Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world.

"But the work is everything."

"No. It's not. You are everything."

"You mean it?"

"Yes. With all of my being."

John turned back to face the dark-haired man he was in love with, slowly lifting his shaking hand and gently placing it on Sherlock's cheek. He caressed it carefully for a second before lifting his thumb to wipe away a tear brimming in his galaxian eyes. He watched as his partner's face broke into a true and genuine smile, happiness wiping out any emotion that had previously been there.

Sherlock lifted his own hand and placed it on John's cheek, making their actions mirror each other. Never again would he put their relationship in jeopardy like that. How could he have been so stupid? He watched as John's smile blossomed like a flower, surely his must be the most beautiful smile in the world. His other hand moved to John's waist, their heads moving closer.

Their foreheads met first, softly pressed against each other, fitting perfectly. And then they were melting against each other, their lips meeting, eyes closing, a thousand emotions passing between them with no need to utter a single word.

And they both knew. This was forever.

* * *

**_Author's note: Don't worry my friends; the fluff emporium is here to stay! I originally planned to do this over 2 chapters but I just couldn't deal with the thought of them being apart for a month before they got back into their cloud of fluff. I love the FLUFF! Please tell me what you thought; all honesty is genuinely appreciated as are any favourites, follows, etc. Every single email I get for this fanfic makes my day a better one. Thank you so so much for reading._**

**_p.s. I may have invented the word 'galaxian' for want of a better word to describe Benedict's eyes..._**


	7. July

**July: Watson to my Holmes?**

A relationship with Sherlock Holmes was never going to be easy but _God_, was it worth it.

John woke, as he did so often now, with his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock's waist. He slowly allowed himself to come back to his senses from a long time sleeping. Last night, Sherlock had come to bed far later than him as he had been studying the details of a case. The work had finally picked up after so long of nothing, putting them both under stress. The police now believed the risk of the small amount of press still interested worth it to have Sherlock with them again and all other clients had followed suit.

He smiled and shifted his head to move his nose up through Sherlock's dark hair, taking in his scent, the one he was now so accustomed to and yet still managed to surprise him every time. He felt Sherlock start to rise from sleep as he moved his head back, stretching his neck. John smiled.

"It seems you've developed some sort of obsession with my hair, John."

The slumberous voice was deep and still threaded with tones of sleep. John smiled, that was perhaps his favourite variation of Sherlock's voice, floating between awake and asleep. He smiled again and pressed a kiss to just above the man's ear, curls brushing his cheeks.

"You're doing nothing to sway my judgement."

"Why bother?" he mumbled back, his own voice also sleep-ridden.

He continued to press kisses to Sherlock's head and they stayed like that for some time, neither of them making an effort to move, content as only dreamers are.

After a time, the mobile on Sherlock's bed side table rang. He groaned.

"Lestrade. Should I_ really_ get it?"

"Yes, Sherlock! It could be a new case."

"You're far more interesting." he said turning to face him and propping himself up on one elbow.

"Just answer the phone you moron."

He groaned again, causing John to laugh aloud, and pushed himself to a sitting position before taking the phone and answering it.

"Lestrade, case?"

John heard the voice of Lestrade going on about some sort of crime and closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of Sherlock's voice as he responded.

"Yes. Is the wife in custody?"

"Who's on chemical?... Well at least it's not Anderson, finally found the sense to fire him?"

"Fine, I'll be at the mortuary in half an hour."

Sherlock hung up just as Lestrade started to say something again. John's eyes flickered open again and looked up to Sherlock's eyes, their gaze unmoving.

"Do you mind? You could come if you like but it seems relatively simple."

"It's okay, I need to go out."

"For what exactly?"

"Milk, of course."

* * *

Withing twenty minutes, both men were out of the door on Baker Street and Sherlock quickly hailed a black cab.

"Joining me?"

"No, I think I'll walk."

"Very well."

He smiled before pressing a deep kiss to John's mouth, his arms wrapping around the man's back and holding him close.

"I'll see you soon John."

John smiled, happily surprised at the sudden kiss, then waved Sherlock off as he hopped into the cab.

* * *

"The Beehive Store, Creek Road; if you please."

The taxi rushed off to Sherlock's given destination in the South of London. Sherlock fetched his phone from the left pocket of his coat and quickly shot Lestrade a text.

_Many Thanks. SH_

A message flashed back to him in a matter of seconds.

_I don't know what you're doing but I better find out soon you secretive Bastard._

He smiled, there were few things that could entertain him like a disgruntled Detective Inspector could. He smiled again at what he was about to do, the thing that had been in the back of his head since their first kiss. The thing that had never really left him. They had never mentioned it but he was certain they had both thought about it.

After around an hour's journey, they drew up outside a small, jumbled, vintage store. He payed the cabbie and jumped out of the car, already fizzing with excitement.

He took a deep breath before pushing the door and hearing the familiar tinkle of the antique bell. An old and thin man looked up as Sherlock entered.

"Sherlock! Long time no see!"

The man had a thick Gloucestershire accent and was dressed in a cream pearl-button shirt with brown leather braces and a dark brown suede tailed jacket.

"Harvey, pleasure to see you again."

Sherlock strode over to shake the man's hand. They had met just over three years ago when he had been framed as the kidnapper of a teenage girl. They had bonded over a love of antiques and chess so Sherlock now considered him a friend, even if he only came into the shop Harvey owned every few months.

"You too, my boy! Though, I rather think you're not just in here to greet me."

"I am indeed here to purchase something."

"Thought so, thought so. Do tell, what is it?"

"A ring."

Harvey rose his eyebrows, and smiled.

"This wouldn't be for Doctor Watson by any chance?"

Sherlock smiled, he had brought John here to meet Harvey late last year, before they were even together.

"Could I take a look at them?"

"Of course, dear boy!"

The elderly man reached under the desk and pulled out an old wooden box, engraved with geometric Art Deco patterns and secured with an old brass lock. He took the key from his front breast pocket and turned it in the lock, removing it and then lifting the lid slowly.

The sight was immediate, folds of thick fabric held up hundreds of sparkling vintage rings. But only one gripped him from the start. Right in the middle.

Shimmering Gold. Engraved with overlapping and ever-twisting patterns that seemed to catch the light causing a rainbow to spill over the other rings surrounding it. Inside all of the lines was some sort of material which sparkled and projected endless reflections and refraction of the light. It was tinted sparkling grey but seemed somehow to project the sea upon it's surface.

Sherlock slowly picked it up and held it up to his direct vision, twisting it so it sparkled in the sunlight, it was truly fantastical to behold, like it could be a portal to another world.

"1890, very advanced design for it's time. 24 karat gold and purified Abalone. As far as I know, they're one of a kind. There's two of course, they were always meant to be wedding rings."

Sherlock nodded and continued studying it, twisting it over and over in his fingers. The inside of the ring was plated with the same material which laced itself over the surface of the ring. Abalone, as Harvey had said.

"Abalone?"

"From the inside of a rare mollusk, not a mineral but still used in jewelry, though more uncommonly nowadays."

Sherlock continued to study the ring for just under a minute before nodding to himself, making a decision.

"I'll take it."

"Blooming nora, that was quick. You sure? I haven't even told you the price!"

"John would like it, that's all that matters."

"Well it's one thousand pounds each."

"That seems incredibly inexpensive for a ring from the 1800s."

"Well, you've been good to me, and you seem to appreciate it. It belongs to you and your doctor now. Would you like the one or the pair?"

Sherlock thought about it, he only needed John's to be special and that was all that mattered. It was beautiful, granted, but he only cared what John would want. That was the most important thing.

"Just the one."

Harvey smiled and took the ring carefully from Sherlock's fingers, getting out a deep blue silk box to put it in.

"Would you like a message on the box?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before replying.

"Yes. 'Watson to my Holmes?'..."

He blushed, was that too bold? Too cheesy? Just too much? He looked up again to see Harvey looking at him with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

"Don't worry Sherlock, people put a lot worse than that. That's pretty classy as far as I'm concerned."

Sherlock smiled, all that mattered was that John liked it.

Harvey spent about ten minuted getting the message ready, putting the box through a special machine, and sorting out the ring. When he was finally finished, he handed a small brown paper and string bag to Sherlock who took the blue box out to look at it again. His message was engraved in silver on the front.

_Watson to my Holmes?_

He opened it and among the white suede lay the ring. It was beautiful. It would suit John.

* * *

_**Author's note: I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter, particularly the bits about Harvey and the ring. Abalone does exist and is used in jewelry but I'm very unsure on whether it can be fitted to a ring in the way I described... particularly in 1890... Still, I hope you enjoyed this chapter too! Thanks you so much for all the feedback and please continue to write reviews! I'm so glad people are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. Thanks again!**_


	8. August

**August: Holmes to my Watson?**

The time had come to ask him. He knew it. He'd been putting it off for an entire month and if he didn't do it today he probably never would. John would be home from the supermarket soon and he had already planned out everything.

John would come home and he would ask him.

He breathed out slowly. That was it. He would have planned it down to every detail, prepared dinner, bought flowers, lit candles but really he just wanted tonight to be about the two of them and the proposal. _Proposal._ The word sounded good in his head as well as when he said it out loud.

"Proposal."

He felt a shiver fly down his spine as the word tumbled from his mouth and then blushed in embarrassment despite the fact that there was no-one around. Love really did do ridiculous things to people. As he pondered over this, pacing, his phone vibrated once in his pocket and he picked it up, turning it in his hand.

_Have you asked him yet? MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and put the phone back into his pocket. Mycroft had found out about Sherlock's plans through his access to all National security cameras including, it seemed, the one in Harvey's vintage store.

_Come now Sherlock, we should be celebrating together. MH_

This time Sherlock shot back a text, irritated.

_You have shown no interest in our relationship before. Do me a favor and stop texting me. SH_

_That is no way to speak to your older sibling, dear brother. MH_

_Oh I am sorry. Do me a favor and stop texting me __**please**__. SH_

He switched his phone to silent to avoid any more possible interruptions since John could be here any moment now. He went to the window and swiftly picked up his violin. He held the instrument in his hands for a second, admiring the smooth curve of the wood, before putting it into position under his chin and starting to play. His arm swept and soared with the bow to the rhythm of a young Mozart.

He played on for a further five minutes before he heard the creak of the door behind him. He paused, finishing his cadence, before placing the violin into it's case on the floor. He turned and was welcomed by the sight of a smiling John. He had no bags, which was odd, but Sherlock put it down to another self service machine 'incident' and pushed it from his ever-deducing mind.

"Why did you stop playing? I was enjoying it."

"I will resume later but for now, I have a question to ask you."

John cocked his head.

"Not before I ask you mine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, smiling.

"I assure you, mine is more important."

"I'm not so sure."

Sherlock wasted no more time. Whatever John wanted, it could wait. There could be no bigger question that what he was about to ask. He breathed out slowly before taking one of John's hands in oner of his. John looked confused, but Sherlock only smiled. He started to let words pour out of his mouth as they came to him.

"John, we have been together for seven months now and that may not seem much to many people but... it's a lot to me and I hope to you too. Because they have been the happiest months of my life and I can never imagine being without you again."

He saw the beautiful smile begin to grow on John's face, the smile which looked like it could have belonged to a child, but it suited John so well all the same. But the confusion was still there, amidst all the happiness. He would soon fix that.

Ever so slowly, he began to descend, not so gracefully as he might have hoped for, but, the end result was the same. He sat on one knee looking up to John whose smile had now blossomed fully, a tear slipping down from his smiling eyes as he started to realize what was happening.

Sherlock took the blue box out of his pocket using his free hand and waited for a second so John could see the message still scrawled across the surface.

_Watson to my Holmes?_

In an instant, he flicked it open with his thumb to reveal the ring, still sparking in the light of the hall.

"John Hamish Watson. Will you marry me?"

More tears started to fall down John's face, his smile stretching from ear to ear, his eyes seemed to dance with emotion. He pulled on Sherlock's hand so they were both standing level to each other, taking his time to answer.

But then something else happened.

Something Sherlock never could have expected.

John Hamish Watson started to descend down on to his own knee, keeping hold of Sherlock's slightly shaking hand. He took his other hand out from behind his back, the one Sherlock had not even thought about, and in it was a blue box identical to Sherlock's. Identical except for the message scrawled in silver across it.

_Holmes to my Watson?_

He clicked the box open with his thumb and in it sat the ring twin to the one that Sherlock had picked out. Gold with Abalone looping over its surface, shimmering iridescently in the light. Both John and Sherlock's smiles were huge now, mirroring each other's perfectly.

"Not before you marry me."

Sherlock dragged John up to standing at a huge speed and instantly pressed their lips together, his arms folding around John, bringing him closer. One of his hand skimmed up his back to brush itself up through his hair and staying to rest on his jaw.

John soon adapted to the unexpected kiss and let his own arms hug Sherlock's back, his hands occasionally brushing through his hair.

This could not have worked out any more perfectly, it was like it was destiny.

They mumbled infinite acceptances to each other, their words not mattering as much as their movements did. Caresses, embraces, foreheads touching, hands roaming, eyes connecting.

This could not have worked out any better. It was like this was destiny. John allowed these thoughts to float eerily around his head, none of them more prominent than the constant Sherlock whispering sweet nothings to him.

After a long time, they both stood back, both of their hands firmly in the other's grip. Eventually, Sherlock spoke.

"How?"

"Harvey suggested the writing. He showed me the rings and I picked that one out straight away."

"Then I suppose it is destiny" he responded, his voice felt as though it was miles away from him, his brain far too elevated with post-proposal bliss.

"No, destiny doesn't exist" John replied, smiling "but we do."

* * *

Harvey smiled to himself, he had kept the ring away from any other customers, sure that it was destined for only their joining.

When John had come in, he already knew what he wanted before he had said a word. He had taken the ring from his own pocket and placed it into the middle of the wooden box, in the most prominent position where the eye was naturally drawn to. And as he had thought, John picked it out straight away. Still, he had an inkling John would have picked that one out no matter what.

John had told him he was planning to ask straight away when he got back, since he was unable to keep a secret from Sherlock for any amount of time without being deduced.

Harvey took a sip of his coffee, sighing contentedly. He was cleverer than many gave him credit for, very handy for a shopkeeper.

* * *

**Author's note: I wrote this at the same time as the other one but just needed to check over it before I put it up :) By God, I really am a fluff addict but I still hope you enjoyed the proposal chapter! I am really enjoying doing the characterization of Harvey, maybe I'll play with him some more in the coming chapters. ^^ I hope you enjoyed reading it and as always, reviews are amazing! Thanks for reading! ^^**

**p.s. Congrats to 8of9 for guessing it, good old Harvey ;)**


	9. September

**September: Just follow my lead**

Sherlock sat tapping away quietly at his laptop sat on the sofa, updating the coding for his website. He had woken far earlier than John and as he was so ecstatic about what was to come today; he was unable to patiently watch John sleeping as he so often did. Sherlock jumped up as the sharp buzzer of his watch went off. It only took two beeps before his finger was at the silencer and he was walking eagerly towards the door of his and John's bedroom.

Sherlock smiled and confidently walked into the bedroom in which John was sleeping.

Needless to say, it was 4 in the morning.

He pushed the door open loudly and put his finger to the switch causing bright light to spread through the room. Sherlock was dressed in his tight purple shirt, a pair of black trousers and the classically practical long black coat he had become so accustomed to.

"Come John, have you any idea what the day is?"

John groaned loudly, the light exploding before his eyes prior to even opening them. He raised his hands to his head, wiping them down his face, slowly waking up. He groaned again.

"Incorrect John! Try again!"

He pushed himself to a sitting position, shaking his head, trying to clear his brain and figure out exactly what was happening.

"Christ. What? Sherlock?"

"What day is it?!"

He pushed a hand through his hair.

"Uhhh... Tuesday?"

"Nope!"

It was a few moments before realization washed over him.

"Anniversary."

"Of course John! Now get up, we're going to watch the sunrise if you recall."

John groaned. At the time it had sounded romantic but the reality of it... well.

Slowly, he pushed himself out of the warm bed and slowly started to get dressed. He would really have loved to just go back to sleep but... it made Sherlock happy. He put on his warmest cabled jumper, a pair of old jeans, fluffy socks and his oldest, toughest army boots. He didn't know where they were to watch it from but considering Sherlock's love for drama; he wanted to be prepared for just about anything.

Within ten minutes, he was ready, leaving the bedroom to see Sherlock bobbing up and down on the sofa out of excitement.

Sherlock jumped up and kissed John on the lips. He was surprised but gladly accepted, allowing his hand to hook around Sherlock's waist before breaking off. He smiled, maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Right. Where are we going?"

Sherlock only smiled, offered John his hand, which John accepted, and quickly pulled on it to follow him up the stairs to John's old bedroom.

Wait. If they were watching the sunrise, why exactly were they going _up_ the stairs?

"Sherlock, I thought we were watching it outside."

"We are!"

John knitted his eyebrows together but asked no more. He'd find out soon enough.

They reached the top of the stairs and Sherlock started to mutter and pace through the room, staring dead up at the ceiling. After a while, he paused in front of the bed, staring at a patch of ceiling just in front of him.

He got John's old walking stick from the corner of the room, sprung up onto the bed and started to bash the stick upwards at the patch of ceiling he had been staring so intently at. The plaster started to splinter under his attack.

"Sherlock! What the HELL?!"

Sherlock continued to pound at the ceiling, the plaster falling onto him causing white specs to tangle themselves in his dark hair. He smiled manically, his rhythmic pulse constant as the falling pieces grew larger and larger.

"Sherlock, you better have a bloody good reason to-"

"AH HAH!"

After one last attack on the plaster, a huge patch of it fell to reveal a square panel of wood and a small metal handle. He dropped the stick to the floor and hooked his hand around the handle, twisting it and then pushing up against the wood which squeaked, shifted and swung upwards, allowing a chilling wind to enter the room. He turned to John, smiling victoriously and then offered his hand to him.

John shook his head laughing, but took his hand all the same.

"Just follow my lead."

Sherlock jumped on the bed gathering momentum and then up through the hole in the slanted ceiling. He gripped both of his arms over the wooden border surrounding the long forgotten entrance and dragged himself up through the hole.

John saw the man disappear from view and then watched as his hand reappeared.

He breathed out slowly. Being married with Sherlock was never going to be boring, that much was certain. He jumped on the bed causing the springs to screech and then launched himself up, grabbing on to Sherlock hand and allowing himself to be pulled up onto the roof.

The first thing that hit him was the wind.

The second thing that hit him was Sherlock's arms around him.

The third thing that hit him was the view.

London stretched before them both like they were pouring over a map. Lashings of early morning darkness poured over it, only the eerie street lamps lit the way for his sight. The buildings stretched up to the sky, begging the sun to rise. He could just make out Big Ben in the distance, the hands continuing to click round, as they had done for so long now. A police car rushed noisily down a road a few streets away, it's siren wailing into the semi-silence of sleeping London.

John twisted his head to look at Sherlock, the man's arms still wrapped tightly around him to stop him from falling, and saw the same awe-inspired vision of dormant London reflected in his infinite eyes. After a time, he let his eyes drag back to John's face, the place he so often found himself staring into these days.

Sherlock smiled, a bright smile containing all of the wonder of the world and John matched it with a smile just as equally inspired as the man's before him.

John turned to face his fiancé properly but Sherlock kept his arms wrapped tightly around him, ensuring his own feet were firmly grounded on the slanted surface beneath them.

Almost instinctively, he leaned into Sherlock, lips meeting, eyes closing, passion shared. They shared dominance of the kiss, passing it between them like a child's ball game. Both of them allowed their hands to roam luxuriously over the other's body, exploring the curves that they both knew so well but that they equally knew they would never tire of.

The kiss must have lasted a long time, though it felt like a matter of seconds, because when they finally parted, the sun had risen and London was bathed in a warm morning light.

"We were meant to watch the sun rise!" Sherlock said, huffing out his annoyance.

"It's okay" John said, turning back to him again "That was a fantastic one month engagement anniversary experience, sunrise or no sunrise."

Sherlock smiled and allowed soft bubbly laughter to escape him, John joining him.

"What do you say to Breakfast in Bed?"

"Hmmm..." John replied, smiling at that slightly confused and disappointed look on Sherlock's face.

"Hmmm? Is that all?"

"It's just that I'd prefer something else in bed as a continuation of our anniversary."

They both smiled but sat for just a little longer on the roof together, taking in the view of waking London.

Eventually, Sherlock offered John his hand once again and they made their way back through the trap door, only making it to the room beneath them before dissolving into each other.

* * *

**Author's note: So here we are, another fluffy chapter later. Hope you enjoyed it and apologies that it took a while for this chapter. Thanks so much for all your feedback, favourites and follows! ^^ I appreciate it all! Thanks for reading! :D**


	10. October

_**Warning: fore play and build up to sexy times but nothing majorly detailed or anything :) If you want, you can obviously skip this chapter as (like before) it isn't essential to the plot!**_

* * *

**October: One Month Today**

"Oh John, why does this have to be so _stressful_?"

Sherlock continued to pace absent-mindedly around the room, whilst John and Mrs Hudson sat facing each other, stacks of paper with endless details spread between them.

"What's the date again?" Mrs Hudson asked John, her sweet voice smoothing over Sherlock's cracking one.

"One month today."

"One Month! Dear me, you certainly don't hang around do you!"

John smiled. They had discussed it and decided on November 1st since there was no need to hang around. They were to have a reasonably small service and reception since neither of them were one for big, glitsy weddings. Plus, a grand wedding was bound to attract the paparazi again and neither of them wanted that.

"We didn't see any point in hanging around."

"But planning a wedding isn't all tasting wines and picking cakes, there's a fair bit of organisation needs to go into it. Are you sure you don't want to push it back a little?"

John looked to Sherlock who was now standing just to the side of the room. Their eyes met and they knew the decision was final.

"Nope. One month today I'm afraid Mrs Hudson."

Mrs Hudson smiled and just nodded, moving on to other things. For the most part, John and Mrs Hudson sorted and talked about everything whilst Sherlock hovered about them like a hawk, contributing a few words every once in a while but mostly just fussing.

Another hour passed before they started to file away the papers, some phone-calls had been made and a few more details set in stone. Mrs Hudson had just started to walk towards the door when John added a few more notes (concerning the invitations) to the pile of papers that she held against her chest. She clucked at him but accepted the extra items all the same.

"Just this once dear, I'm not your wedding planner."

And with that simple note, she was out of the room. Juggling and shifting the files just as any wedding planner would.

Sherlock stopped pacing and came to sit by John, he tapped his foot up and down like an anxious child before an exam. John looked to him, his eyes questioning but amused and... something else.

There was only a single second more until John positively launched himself on him. He hooked his leg over both of Sherlock's so that he was sitting on his lap, forcing his lips on the man's beneath him. It was passionate and desperate, not the kind of kiss that Sherlock was used to.

Still, a little variety was good for the human brain.

John let his hand fly over Sherlock's form, from gripping down on his hips to raking themselves through his hair. But mostly, he concentrated on Sherlock's torso and chest, sometimes sweeping down his arms. Sherlock joined him but eventually settled on just brushing roughly up and down from John's hips to his waist.

Slowly, John dragged his lips to other parts of Sherlock's body, his shoulders, his neck, his ears. Sherlock was moaning almost constantly, the pressure against him so fulfilling. But he stopped just long enough to ask.

"What brought this on?"

John bit down sharply on the detective's neck, the point which always made Sherlock cry out with pleasure. He was not disappointed.

"Not that I'm complaining..."

John took his time answering, seemingly finding it difficult to drag himself away for one second.

"You're wearing the shirt I got you."

"Well yes..."

"I got it two sizes too small on purpose."

When John had bought the shirt he couldn't wait to see Sherlock in it, his chest pulsing against the fabric, straining the buttons. But really, he hadn't imagined he'd put it on when someone else was around. So when Sherlock showered and came out in the shirt, but Mrs Hudson was in the room, things were oh-so-close to perfect. He really had spent the whole time trying to concentrate on wedding preparations but it was damn-near impossible when Sherlock was basically strutting around in that shirt. _God_ did he look good in it.

He resumed his exploration of Sherlock's body, slowly peeling the layers away from the man because as good as he looked in that shirt, he looked even better without it. As they grew against each other it was clear where this was going and neither of them resisted as they melted against each other, passion tumbling into greater and greater passion. Neither of them could ever get tired of this.

* * *

It was hours later when they finally awoke from their exhausted slumber, encased in eachother's arms. John was the first to wake, his arms pulling Sherlock's waist towards him, his fiance's nose dug into his hair. As he slowly started to move, Sherlock's galaxian eyes flickered open. He smiled. John smiled.

"I know I always say this after sex, but I really do love you John."

"I love you too Sherlock."

"I could never be without you."

"No. Never."

"I can't wait to marry you."

"It will be the best day of my life."

They shared another kiss before both falling back into a light dose, waking later and not remembering the conversation. But that didn't matter because it didn't mean any less.

* * *

_**Author's note: So, another chapter over and the wedding chapter is coming up! ^^ Hope you enjoyed this one, I wanted to go back to Sherlock and John's sexual side for just a bit. Actually, i'm kind of tempted to do an M one shot based on this chapter. I haven't written anything but fluff before but why not. Let me know what you think and as always, thank you so much for reading! ^^**_


	11. November

**November: I do**

It was here. The day of the wedding. And both men were fizzing like shaken up bottles of lemonade.

"JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!"

"SHERLOCK!"

They had chosen to stay at 221b for the day before their wedding, seeing no need for the separation since neither of them were one for superstition.

They had had a small 'stag doo' three nights before... if you could even call it that. The night had basically consisted of them, Lestrade, Mike Stamford and Harvey sitting around a circular table with a few drinks. After Sherlock had accessed everyone of their current situations (with a little help from Harvey), Lestrade could not stop asking John how he could live with the man, let alone marry him. To answer, John merely smiled silently and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's more tightly under the table.

But they weren't thinking about that now

Sherlock and John were positively leaping up and down on the bed, waking only seconds earlier, it proved exactly how excited John was! Sherlock checked his watch. 06:30. he showed John and John crossed his arms like a sulking child, his eyes looking to the ceiling in dismay.

"Why can't time just HURRY UP?"

"As illogical as that point it, I can't help but back it."

John turned to him and smiled, eyes twinkling. Sherlock returned the smile with his own, wide as the Earth and twice as spectacular. John could have sworn that he saw everything about Sherlock in that one smile.

"When is the car arriving?"

"11.00"

They took each other's hands, and left the bed behind them, walking into the living room. John turned to look upon the bed as they went out the door. He shivered to think of the next time that they would be in it together. As a married couple...

Never the less, they shut the door behind them and walked towards the living room. Neither of them were surprised at the sight they discovered there. Mrs Hudson sat on the sofa, carefully organizing small pieces of thick, cream paper into alphabetical piles. John could see that they were name places. There were very few compared with normal weddings but that was to be expected.

"Mrs Hudson! You shouldn't be up at this time!" John said, feinting surprise.

She looked up at him with a slightly insane but happy smile.

"Oh don't worry dear. I find all this quite enjoyable!"

John laughed and he went to the kitchen, offering tea to the two people in front of him, probably his favourite people in the world.

John turned his back and started preparing the three cups of tea, each one with it's own saucer and a large plate of biscuits to share. When all was prepared he put the biscuits and cups on a tray, bringing it into the living room.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Mrs Hudson had her head leaning on Sherlock's shoulder. Slow and simple tears of joy and loss were finding their way down her cheeks, caught in the material of Sherlock's bed shirt. Sherlock was sat next to her, his eyes were hardened and grounding but also on the edge of tears. He caught John's eyes and he saw the amount that Mrs Hudson truly meant to him. She was more like a mother than anyone he had ever had before and Sherlock could not be more of a son to Mrs Hudson if it was biological.

John carefully placed the tray on the table before them, the saucers tinkling into the eerie silence, then moved over to Mrs Hudson's other side. He sat and leaned over to her. He placed a small kiss on her cheek to which she smiled, but did not look at him. John left the room and entered the bedroom, letting them have their needed time together, alone.

He thought of the kiss he had planted to Mrs Hudson's cheek and smiled. They both knew what that kiss had meant, an eternal contract binding them which he knew he could and would never break.

_I swear to you. I'll take care of him._

* * *

Time struggled on. They had many phone calls that morning. Last minute checks, good wishes, and a few interested paparazzi; but only a few.

It was 9.30 when they started to get ready in their own rooms.

Mrs Hudson had insisted on at least this level of separation, ensuring that both of their outfits were unknown to the other by keeping them downstairs in her own flat.

"Goodbye for now, my love."

John smiled and flushed red.

"Goodbye, my love"

They shared a simple but passionate kiss before Mrs Hudson shuffled them off into separate rooms. - John in the upstairs bedroom and Sherlock in their current one.

Their chosen outfits were definitely not the most conventional of wedding-wear, but that spoke volumes of their relationship.

John had chosen something he already possessed. His army parade suit.

The suit was grand and incredibly vibrant but John loved it all the same. Well, perhaps not _loved_ it, it was different to that. He respected it. Each time he had worn it in a parade back home he had lost at least one more friend to the war and so he was saddened but also inspired by the men and women who had lost their lives to the wars all across the world. He respected that part of his life, the habits of a soldier he would never lose and the knowledge of a doctor that he would never forget. And perhaps that was why he had chosen to wear it. As a final salute.

The suit was hung high on the wardrobe and John had to jump to get it down. He first put on a simple black shirt under the rich red jacket. The jacket had golden military buttons skirting down the right side of it in a long line, where the thick fabric overlapped and joined. The deep red was contrasted with the golden ribbing that traveled along all the edges of the jacket. The sleeves had gold ribbon just above the ribbing, giving a very defined edge. On his left breast, he had a row of the medals he had gained as a soldier and as a doctor.

His trousers were made of the same heavy, red fabric. They had golden piping all the way down the sides and (similarly to the sleeves) golden ribbon framing the bottom of the length. His shoes were plain black, but polished so they shined even in the dull bulb-lit bedroom.

As for Sherlock, he had opted for a new suit. Well... not entirely new seeing as it was mainly vintage but new for him. He had taken a visit to Harvey's vintage shop with Mrs Hudson as his companion and had come out with perhaps the most beautiful and personal outfit he had ever laid eyes upon. Harvey had tailored the whole thing to fit perfectly. Mrs Hudson had also assured that Harvey had seen John's suit beforehand so that he could match them.

His first item was a cream shirt a small amount of looping embroidery on the collar. The buttons were made of purified abalone and had very detailed and skilled patterns traced over them just like the collar did, and they sparkled just as John's shoes did. He next put on his trousers, they were made of thick brown suede and perfectly hugged his legs. The trousers also had abalone buttons as they were designed specifically to match the shirt which he let hang over them. He had also chosen a pair of brown leather braces with brass ends that clipped to the trousers with a sharp ting. He then put on his shoes; made too of brown suede with small stars embroidered on the sides in a simple cream thread.

He then took a large red bandanna style scarf and hung it loosely around his neck. It has a softly faded traditional paisley pattern but the red was exactly the shade of John's army suit. Finally, he put on a brown waistcoat which fit tightly but then flared out at his waist to form tails which fell a fair way behind him. The whole piece was lined with red velvet matched to John's suit which could be seen as the tails flared when he walked. The piece was actually the one item that was not vintage seeing as it was of Harvey's own creation. Harvey had many talents indeed, thought Sherlock as he twirled in front of the long mirror. Not that he even knew of how well his suit was tied with John's.

Mrs Hudson was constantly rushing between the rooms and before she knew what she should compliment next 10:40 had arrived and it was time for John to go off to the registry office. He and Sherlock had agreed on getting taxis there (seeing as they were not going to be together so there was little point putting in lots of effort, besides, both of them were rather fond of the classic black London cab) and then John's favorite car (an Alfa Romeo, Series 2, 105, Spider in red) back.

And so, with a look to their bedroom door and with Mrs Hudson positively pushing him out of the door - he took the journey to the registry office they had chosen. Since John classed him as Agnostic and Sherlock was a plain old Atheist - it seemed illogical to get married in a church when religion meant so little to either of them.

* * *

The cab journey seemed to take years but in reality it was only a 15 minute journey from 221b. They had chosen the place because it was simple and easy to adapt. The ceremony room just off the hall which also led to the room where they were to have the reception. However, they really had been lazy. Leaving the paperwork to Mrs Hudson, they had naturally left anything remotely creative to Harvey who had designed the decoration for the whole space.

Eventually, he reached it and walked towards the neutral building in the outskirts of London. Lestrade was slumped against the wall outside in a fitted grey suit and John could tell he'd made a lot of effort. As he got out the taxi he smiled and stretched his hand out towards him. Lestrade beamed and pulled John into a firm hug.

"Lestrade!"

"John!"

Once the warm greetings had been exchanged they started to walk into the building.

"Ready for this John? A life with Sherlock Holmes?"

John laughed warmly.

"Ah, but you haven't shagged him Lestrade."

Lestrade laughed loudly and fully, laughter bubbling through the building. They paused just before entering the ceremony room.

"But seriously. Nervous?"

"A little. But not too bad."

"That's what I like to hear. Now come on in. Many wanting to see you in that room."

John took a deep breath before pushing the door open and he was immediately greeted with Harvey's creation. He didn't know what he had expected but he certainly hadn't expected this. The chairs facing the arch were a fantastic jumble of vintage chairs; handmade cushions ,each made with a different material, complimenting every single one. He looked up and the ceiling was a burst of colour. Metres and metres of material had been gathered on the ceiling to create a swirling sea of clashing but somehow harmonious colours and textures. The varying materials also hung down along two opposite facing sides of the room like patterned paint dripping down the room. The table at the front had a beautiful crisp red silk draped over it as did the speech podium to the side. There was a grand wooden piano to the side of the altar and it was left in it's lonely beauty.

John gaped around at the room and Lestrade had to nudge him to bring him back to Earth.

"Not bad, hey? That Harvey must be a proper genius too."

John smiled and looked around for Harvey. When Harvey saw him from his seat in the front row, he caught John's eye, and nodded proudly.

Soon, though, the buzz of conversation started to surround him and as he walked towards the front he started shaking hands, receiving kisses and responding to the many many good wishes and compliments that came his way.

Lestrade soon slipped out for when Sherlock arrived but John barely noticed as he stood in wonder of the people and the setting. He had the longest conversation by far with Harvey about his creation and Harvey told him of how he used to be an interior designer. It seemed the phrase Jack of all Trades was invented solely for this man.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Lestrade and Mrs Hudson poked their heads round the door and entered, beaming like ecstatic children. Lestrade proudly offered Mrs Hudson his arm and she shuffled down joyfully with the man on his right. They nodded to the wedding practicer and she smiled. She was dressed in a simple white robe and had long brown hair that tumbled down her back, secured by two pearly hair pins.

At the piano sat Harvey (also a semi-professional pianist) and he began to play improvised jazz. He let his fingers dance calmly over the keys, soft striding bass in his left and a melody spinning delicately in his right.

A few bars passed by before the doors opened and first approached Molly in a simple silken white dress that Harvey had made for her. Sherlock and John had agreed that Molly would be the one bridesmaid because she meant a lot to both of them but they both knew that they didn't show it. She looked truly beautiful with very little makeup and the white fabric complimenting her skin. She walked up the full length of the room with every person smiling at her, a delicate blush forming over her cheeks. Once she reached the front, she walked to the right and John took her hand and kissed it, smiling before letting her pass.

However, Molly was not the apple of John's eye.

The doors swung open again and in he came. His pace was steady and measured and perfect. John smiled. His eyes dragged up Sherlock's form taking in every inch of his outfit and it had Sherlock written all over it. Tradition and efficiency mingling with a hint of flair. He looked beautiful.

Once Sherlock had gaped at the uncovered setting, he had eyes for no one but the man turning to look at him. His eyes raked over him, his Army Parade Suit. John had mentioned it but never shown him and he was glad because the beauty of him in it was overwhelming that he was glad to keep it for their wedding day. He looked beautiful.

Sherlock blushed and looked down under John's fixed gaze, he finally reached the front and turned so that they were facing each other.

John lifted his fingers to bring Sherlock's face up and look at him properly. The look they shared was something that both of them had dreamed of for all of their lives - whether they cared to admit it or not.

John offered his hand and Sherlock accepted, gripping it tightly before they both turned to face the woman in front of them.

"Please be seated."

* * *

The woman's name was Meridah Brown and her melodic voice spun through the service. It progressed as any normal service would, taking it's time to sway through the legal requirements and the creative interludes. The rings had been exchanged (simple gold bands) and it was now time for the final chapter. They turned towards each other and held hands. Impossible galaxian eyes piercing grounding blue ones.

"Do you, Sherlock William Holmes take this man, John Hamish Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"And do you, John Hamish Watson take this man, Sherlock William Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and husband." she turned to both of them, smiling "You may _both_ kiss the groom."

There was a long smile before anything happened, the silence almost deafening, but then words escaped John's lips. Words that surprised them both but words that were so _human_, so purely and perfectly _John_...

"Oh _God_ yes."

Sherlock leaned in but didn't quite meet the man's lips before John grabbed the man around the waist and grabbed the other hand in his spare, dipped Sherlock so one of his legs bent beneath him and the other flew out so it was sitting in the air. Sherlock's other arm flew to hook itself around John's neck. John smiled before kissing the surprised look right off of Sherlock's face, claiming his lips in a powerful kiss. Cheers exploded all around them but the only thing they could feel or hear or see was the other. Their _husband_.

* * *

As the meal went on, their arms never left the other's waist. A few people who could not make the service had arrived for the meal which passed as quickly as it had arrived. After a long while, the talking and the speeches had worn away into early evening at which point it was time for the dance.

Everyone started to make their way into the dancing room - another masterpiece by Harvey. Less cheesy disco and more Edwardian ball dance. Sherlock and John smiled and made their way into the centre of the floor for their first dance.

Sherlock had chosen the music - a smooth jazz waltz which crackled with age. With the help of Mrs Hudson, they had learnt a very simple waltz routine and as the music started up with a rhythmic piano solo they took their position and started on cue.

Sherlock took the lead, John bowing his body out as he was swung around the floor in the calm and peaceful dance. Their footwork was a little clumsy - but if it had been perfect, it wouldn't have felt right. About half way through the song John brought his head back up and looked directly up to Sherlock. They didn't smile but it was as though their eyes sent signals to the other. In time, John moved his hands up to hook around Sherlock's neck and Sherlock moved his to put around John's waist. The dance was intimate but calm. It felt right.

Slowly, the song faded and everyone clapped as the couple turned out to face the beaming faces. Soon the next song came on and everyone started to pile onto the dance floor to the sound of an up beat rag time tune. The dancing turned fun, fancy and even more clumsy and everyone was having the time of their lives; the happy couple included.

As the piano bashed itself to infinity, the doctor and the detective swung up and down the floor, clinging close then spinning out with Charleston feet that just kept spinning and spinning as the night spun on.

* * *

After hours of dancing, drinking and talking it was time to go home. The guests were already starting to peel off and make their way home. It was 10 o'clock and John heard the roaring of his car outside, like a call. He smiled and kissed Sherlock fully on the lips before speaking out.

"Folks, it has been wonderful but for now, my husband and I must bid you adieu and retire to our marital home."

Cheers were heard and a crowd followed them outside into the bitterly cold winter weather. John could make out a small part of the car through the crowd but curiosity soon overcame him and he pushed through the crowd to discover the true beauty of it.

The red gleam of it was glorious to behold and even in the dim light he could see the curves glinting with a seductivity that only a spider could manage. The headlights flashed and John's heart leaped into his throat. Was it possible to be sexually attracted to a car? If Sherlock hadn't come into his life, he was sure he could have married this thing.

The driver smiled as he admired it, starting up the engine for them.

The beast roared to life, purring like a kitten and roaring like a Lion. John's eyes burst with fire as he ran his fingers along it's silken body.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper behind him.

"I hope you're going to treat me the same way you're treating that car tonight, John Watson."

He shivered and turned to face Sherlock, a sexy smirk was settling over the dark haired man's lips.

"Oh no. I'll treat you with far less delicacy than this car."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John as he was pushed back against the body of the car. John smiled but allowed them to separate.

"When we get home."

They made their final goodbyes and soon the couple were in the car waving to the friends and family still remaining.

In the squashed back seat of the car, John let his head rest on Sherlock's chest, he could hear the man's heart beating gleefully beneath him. Sherlock kissed the top of his head and he smiled, coming back up to look the man dead in the eyes again. Not just any man. His husband. Sherlock Holmes, John Watson's husband.

"What are you thinking about?"

John lifted his hand to caress Sherlock's cheek.

"You."

Sherlock smiled before claiming John's lips in a soft kiss yet again, there would be many more as the night went on, he was sure.

* * *

_**Author's Note: I honestly cannot put into words how sorry I am that it took me so long to upload this chapter. I started AS levels and work experience at the same time as starting the longest chapter yet. I couldn't have planned it worse, really, hopefully the length of this chapter at least partly makes up for it :/ I've drawn visual aids for their outfits and will probably scan them in and link to them in the next chapter. I also wrote this as though gay marriage was legal in England (like it should be!).^^ Also, I will be writing the smut version of last chapter and I'll let you guys know when it's up. :) Sorry again, but thanks for reading and reviewing! ^^**_


	12. December

**December: The Ending**

Sherlock woke to darkness with a crick in his neck and a pain shooting down his spine. He groaned and opened his eyes. The living room started to blur into place as did the laptop with the bright white screen in front of him. He squinted at it, an email to a client left half-finished. He looked to the corner of the screen. 05:03 He must have slept for four hours. Enough.

Though he was not tired, he made his way to the bedroom. He was angry at himself for pushing his body so far that he had sacrificed sleeping next to John, his _husband_. Still, at least he could watch him til he woke.

He walked to the door and as predicted, when he opened it John was lying peacefully beneath the covers. Sherlock smiled and closed the door quietly behind him before making his way over to John's side of the bed. He lowered himself onto the floor so that his knees were bent, balancing on the balls of his feet. He looked into John's face.

There was a sleepy smile flickering over his mouth, his lips vibrating as he slowly breathed in and out. His nose was curved and had a small kink in it, obtained through falling down the stairs when he was five. John had told him. Just one of the many things that made John so utterly and wonderfully... _human_. His eyes were closed but they flickered as black shapes morphed under his lids in his sleep. His short eyelashes flickered with them, dancing in the darkness. His light hair was flopping gently over his forehead, washed only last night, it seemed to shine before Sherlock's eyes. Even this messy, it was the best Sherlock had ever seen it. Then again, John always seemed to look the best Sherlock had ever seen him.

Sherlock continued to watch him like this for another five minutes - studying every aspect of John's features.

He sighed happily.

John's eyes flickered open slowly, revealing the brilliant blue of sky and sea. A swirling entity of the natural world.

Sherlock cursed inwardly.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to wake you."

John smiled sleepily and moved his head from side to side. He let his eyes drag luxuriously over Sherlock's face, giving his extravagant beauty the time it deserved.

Sherlock's hair seemed sparkled with the glossy texture it had always possessed, as though some mythical creature had spilt a potion over his curls. His face had a beautiful structure, with cheekbones unlike anything he had ever seen - and yet they suited him so well. And his eyes. Constellations of thought spun through them like silken threads floating in tinted resin.

Silently, he released his hand from the covers and placed it against Sherlock's jaw. He pulled it forward and leaned over the side of the bed to kiss the man's lips.

Sherlock let himself lean forward, breaking the first kiss for a minute before going back in for another. John dragged him on to the bed, not letting the second kiss be released until the man was silently draped over him and even then only letting go for a second before pulling Sherlock to him once again.

He could live like this forever.

He could live like this forever.

His Sherlock.

And His John.

* * *

_**Author's note: I cannot express enough how grateful I am for all the follows, favourites, reviews and views that this story has received. The idea of many different people in so many different places all across the world reading this one little johnlock fanfic that i've written on a beanbag under my bed is just so amazing. It might not seem like a lot, but it is to me. I hope you liked what I see as the summing-up chapter ^^ I know it was short, but I guess I'm treating it as more of an epilogue than anything else. I am currently working on the smut version of the chapter I mentioned and will probably let you know via an updates chapter or something just so you know if you wanted to read it. :) I may be updating these to sort out the typo issues which i know are in quite a few chapters. I'm also considering writting a sequel to this one in the same 12 month style - possibly a parent!lock one but I am very open to suggestions as it's only an idea at this point in time. Again thank you so much to everyone who has read this fic (and to Kandyblood who has been amazing this whole time and who this fic is actually dedicated to) and I hope you enjoyed it. So this is me signing off for now! Thank you! Whovenclaw-holmes**_


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